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by the-black-birb (moriturism)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Gen, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, implied anorexia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23390182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriturism/pseuds/the-black-birb
Summary: A normal morning of disdain for Tsukishima Kei.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





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**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read this if you can be triggered by implied suicidal ideation or mentions of eating disorders.  
> Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Crisis Textline: 741-741  
> This was self-indulgent. Thank you.

Tsukishima envied Hinata. Often times he wondered how it felt to be so naïve, to have not a care in the world except for the next game. Hinata was always battling for next. Always one step ahead, always looking forward.

Meanwhile, Tsukishima wasn’t even sure how to survive now.

It was one of _those_ days when his alarm ringing sounded like the countdown to a doomsday clock. Morning breath tasted like guilt, reminding him of his dinner the night before. That alone was enough to make him nauseous for the day to come.

Unsure of what to do, he went through the motions. Rolling out of bed felt like all too much, so for a moment, he wondered what would happen if he just laid there, forever. But a knock on the door was enough to remind him that wasn’t an option. He stood.

“Kei, you don’t want to be late!” his mother reminded him.

Tsukishima grimaced. He didn’t want to be _anything_ right now.

When his feet finally touch the floor, Tsukishima relishes in the dizziness he feels and the way his eyes cannot quite focus. It’s his personal drug, a reminder of his hard work. For a moment his body levitates. He cannot feel even the tips of his fingers or the way his muscles grip his skeleton. All he feels is the weight of his brain and how he _wishes_ he were nothing but a brain.

Sounds of his mother cooking downstairs pull him back down to Earth. He is here, _now_ , and he needs to spend enough time in his room to not have enough time to be in there with her, his perfect tiny mother.

One step forward is all it takes. On his foot, Tsukishima rests all of his weight. His ankle aches under the demand to hold not only his frame but his mistakes as well. His dinner the night before and the way he will surely be sucking on ice cubes to make up for it. _Not hungry,_ he tells himself. _Never that._

Another step forward and he is almost halfway to his bathroom door. He wonders for a moment if today will be the day he can break his eyes away from the numbers long enough to look at himself in the mirror and bare the sight. Yet, day in and day out he follows this routine like a prayer and nothing ever changes. What God is there, he wonders, if he cannot receive salvation from his own body?

Before he is done praying, he is at the bathroom door, his grip on the knob so tight that his knuckles turn white. He retches at the sight wondering when he let himself become so _human._ The bathroom looms in front of him like a prison cell. He stands in the door frame, his own pearly gates, waiting to be judged. Will today be heaven or hell? He knows the answer.

It is always purgatory. Never well enough to be forgiven, but never hurt enough to finally give up. He was always in limbo, existing but never living.

 _Go through the motions,_ he reprimanded himself. Stand. Walk. Make sure you are not wearing clothes; they will only add extra weight. If you have to use the bathroom do it; it will only make you lighter. Find the scale. Make sure you read it in the same place you always do. Hate yourself for what you see. Hate yourself for not being any better. Hate yourself for not being any smaller _._

Tsukishima envies Hinata. He wonders how it feels to be so naïve, not a care in the world. He never worries about _size._ He does not breathe in so he can see his ribs poking through and still see something all too large. He does not wake up every morning and pray that he has torn just a bit more of himself away. He does not feel guilty to wake up and taste food on his lips, like a broken promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If this is something you've experienced or can sympathize with please use text lines (741-741) or hotlines (1-800-273-8255)


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